


Kick Bricks

by misseshermionemalfoy



Category: Shadowhunters (TV), The Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: BDSM, Consensual Underage Sex, Drinking, Drug Use, M/M, Underage Drinking, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-28
Updated: 2016-11-28
Packaged: 2018-09-02 18:31:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8678710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misseshermionemalfoy/pseuds/misseshermionemalfoy
Summary: Jace is the heir of his father's multi-billion dollar arms company. What will happen when Alec Lightwood meets him in the park one day? Alec seems perturbed by this in the extreme. “You’re not serious are you?”  I start along the path, I didn’t really think I needed to dignify the kid with an answer. “Hey! There’s no way you’ll make it wherever you’re going in one piece like that!” Alec catches up with me and stops me. “Do you have a death wish?”  I smile ruefully but I press past Alec.  “What the fuck?” Alec roars at me.  “Goodbye Alec.” I don’t know if I’m saying it because I hope I won’t get back to my downtown apartment in one piece or if I just want him to get away from me.





	

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This fanfic takes place beginning in 1997, and focuses on a time period between 1997-2001 with the epilogue placed some years afterward. This will be a novel length fic and I’ll be posting chapters weekly even though it is mostly already written. When reading this fic please keep in mind that BDSM and adult themes including age difference will be themes present in every chapter. This fic takes inspiration from my old tumblr ( @secondbcst ) and my friend’s tumblr. You can follow me on my current personal blog for updates and snippets! @lupinsighed.

Everyone loses their parents. It’s a fact of nature. I however am just twenty-one years old and have lost one of my parents, soon to be both of my parents. My father was my rolemodel. So today as I drive down the highway back to my small apartment it doesn’t seem so wrong that I pull off onto an exit, just one exit away from my own, and pull into the first liquor store I see. I park my car in the fire lane and spot an extremely petulant looking teenager with a riot of black hair and angular features. He doesn’t smile at me, he just tosses rocks in the parking lot. I walk in, buy a bottle of Jim Beam and a coke. I’ve forgotten my ID in the car so I step out and get it. This time the boy, who appears to be in his mid-teens casts me a furtive glance. I smile, nod politely and grab my ID. There’s a park nearby and it would be a good place to drink in comfortable silence, however, when I step out with my bourbon and coke, the boy comes up to me. 

 

“Could you uh, buy me some vodka?” Because I look young for my age he must suppose I’m dumber than a box of rocks. 

 

“You can’t be over sixteen, absolutely not.” I climb into the car and drive away. 

  
  


Today dad feels worse than he did yesterday. They say they’re ‘working’ on getting him into some place comfortable, unfortunately that’s not good enough for me and I go off on the doctor. Now, as I’m driving home I realize it was definitely the wrong thing to do. It’s a matter of days or hours until he leaves me and I want his last day to be special. I want him to eat his favorite food, see some pictures of mom and hold his hand until he lets go. I realize I’m doing eighty-five in sixty-five and pull onto the exit where I stopped the day before. The Indian or Pakistani man behind the counter nods politely as I walk in, grab a bottle of bourbon and a bottle of coke. 

 

I step out of the store and the boy with the riot of black hair is leaning against my car looking expectant. What could he possibly want from me? 

 

“Can I help you?” I say, I’m slightly annoyed that he’s up against my car, I’d just gotten it cleaned. 

 

“I saw you at the park the other day.” 

 

I wonder what the significance of this incredibly obvious statement could be. Yesterday I had sat in the park until sundown and cried and drank. This year has been doubly hard with my father getting sick and my girlfriend of four years running away to London. Did he mean that he had seen me crying or that he saw me drinking in a public place? 

 

“Could you tell me why I would care if a perfect stranger saw me drinking?” 

 

“You know you could at least give me the coke.” He insinuates that I somehow owe him for this discovery? 

 

My brow furrows. Why on god’s green Earth, but I cannot be bothered my hand is outstretched and he’s taken the coke from me. “Thanks. You need some company?” He asks. 

 

The question opens up a pandora’s box. Is he some abandoned child living on the streets? A quick scan of his clothes and general appearance tell me that this is an impossibility. He’s clothed in brand new Nike’s, a Marc Jacobs hoodie and expensive jeans. No, if anything his parents are wealthy, and he well taken care of. It occurs to me that he is a bored rich kid looking for trouble and I need none of that. 

 

“Take the coke and get away from my car kid.” My tone is condescending and I hope it will scare him off. 

 

He lets out a derisive snort, gives me a rude hand gesture and heads in the direction of the park across the street. Apparently I will have company whether or not I want it. 

 

I drive across the road and park under shady trees. It’s cool out for May, and the dress shirt I’m wearing is short sleeves. I walk to where I was sitting yesterday, near a small pond at the far end of the park. The kid is nowhere to be seen so I open the bottle and take a swig, I’m quite sorry I didn’t just buy him another coke, a chaser would be great right now. 

 

Forty-five minutes later, I’ve got a good buzz going but I’ve not yet cried, anger still singes my insides that my father is not in a place that’s more peaceful. I would take him from the hospital but I’m not allowed. My stepmother, a woman nearly twenty years my father’s junior has control of all the family funds and is the executor of both his living will and power of attorney. I shake my head. The only good thing that has come from the woman is my sister, Isabelle. I can’t help but to feel a pang of sorrow that her father will be dead by tomorrow or the day after and her mother has already relegated the title of father and sole caretaker to me. 

 

An hour after I’d shown up at the liquor store I’ve drank nearly three-quarters of the bottle of bourbon. Footsteps shake me from my reverie and when I look up I’m clearly annoyed. The kid from the liquor store has just sat down next to me. “Christ, I can’t believe you’ve drank that much.” The teen mutters. 

 

“I’m not sure where you’ve gotten the idea that I want you around but that is definitely not the message I intended to send. Don’t you have some after school activity? A study group or something?” 

 

The bottle is held loosely in my right hand and when the kid takes it from me I’m shocked, but altogether too drunk to do anything about it. The bottle is brought to the boy’s lips and he takes a swig. “You’re drinking shit. Get some vodka or something.” 

 

I grimace. I didn’t sign on for this. If I had wanted to take care of a child I would have gone home to take care of my sister. 

 

“Could you kindly fuck off.” I half slur. 

 

“No. I’ve been dying for a drink and I’ve found someone drunk enough to give me one.” Another swig from the now half empty bottle. 

 

“God you’re obnoxious.” I say as gruffly as I can manage in such a state. I haven’t cried though and I’m proud of that. 

 

We sit there, in silence watching the wind ruffle the buds on the trees. “You never asked my name.” The boy says after he’s finished the vodka.

 

“I didn’t think I’d actually be seeing this much of you. What’s your name?” 

 

“Alec Lightwood.” 

 

I am briefly reminded of a Maryse Lightwood that had treated my sister in the emergency room at Brooklyn General when she was six and fell out of tree she was climbing. Dr. Lightwood had been exceptionally kind to Isabelle. It doesn’t seem worth mentioning right now. 

 

“Jace Herondale.” I say as a way of introducing myself  even though we do not shake hands. 

 

“You mean the war-mongering family? The Herondales?” Alec says as he tosses the bottle into the pond. “Jesus I hope you’re not one of them.” 

 

“You certainly do have a lot of nerve, young man.” War-mongering was one of the more polite things I had been called in recent history. Herondale Arms was the biggest arms manufacturer of weapons and explosives in North America. 

 

Alec raises his eyebrows but for once, says nothing. Despite the alcohol I’m starting to get cold with the breeze. It’s probably best if my father’s head of security isn’t informed about this little misadventure. I stretch and stand up. I wobble slightly but I start forward, “Hope you enjoyed your free alcohol. I’ve gotta run.” 

 

Alec seems perturbed by this in the extreme. “You’re not serious are you?” 

 

I start along the path, I didn’t really think I needed to dignify the kid with an answer. “Hey! There’s no way you’ll make it wherever you’re going in one piece like that!” Alec catches up with me and stops me. “Do you have a death wish?” 

 

I smile ruefully but I press past Alec. 

 

“What the fuck?” Alec roars at me. 

 

“Goodbye Alec.” I don’t know if I’m saying it because I hope I won’t get back to my downtown apartment in one piece or if I just want him to get away from me. 

 

He lets me go. 

  
  


I get to the hospital at about ten in the morning the next day. I always dread mornings because there is nothing worse than being greeted with the stench of bleach and disinfectant. My father’s room is room 341. I pass the rooms I have passed every day for a month now. Three-hundred thirty-seven, three-hundred thirty-nine, three-hundred forty-one. I get there and my father’s bed, the first one in double room is empty. Could they have moved him? No one is here. Isabelle is in school and my miserable stepmother can’t be bothered with an ailing man. I stick my head out of the door and ask a nurse where my father is. The look she gives me sends my heart to the floor. “Mr. Herondale died a little before six am.” 

 

I am silent. There are no words. I knew he was going to die. I just didn’t realize I wouldn’t have one more day with him. She pats my shoulder and somehow I make it out of the hospital without causing bodily injury to any of the staff. 

 

I am now the CEO and major shareholder of Herondale Arms Incorporated. My father’s living will explicitly states that my stepmother would have control of his affairs until his death. Now?  **It’s all on me.** I’m rolling down the highway, actually doing the speed limit. I think twice about going to the liquor store. Dad hated it when I drank, but he’s not here. I see Alec lurking outside. What the fuck is he doing here? 

 

I can’t be arsed with school children today. I buy a handle of Grey Goose and Jim Beam. When I come out with two large bottles Christian is leaning on my car and looking hopeful. “Just get in the fucking car, ass hat.” 

 

I’m angry and apparently I’ve finally selected a target. I unlock the car and he gets in. “Nice ride.” He smiles. 

 

I shove the Grey Goose in his hand and put the Jim Beam in the back seat. “Where are we going?” Alec seems quite fearless. 

 

“The park.” I snarl at him. He nods his head in assent even though I am a stranger with him in a car. Did this child’s parents teach him absolutely so ‘stranger danger’ rhetoric? We pull into the parking lot on the far side of the park and we get out. 

 

We don’t speak for the next hour. We only pass the bottle of Grey Goose back and forth. I take out a pack Marlboro’s and offer him one. For once, he shakes his head to decline, politely.

 

“So what happened?” Alec asks me. I’m surprised, again, that he has the audacity to ask. 

 

“Bad day.” Is my short and bitter answer. 

 

“I heard Stephen Herondale died. Is he your father?” I’m not sure if I really signed on for this but nod my head in assent just the less. 

 

He doesn’t say anything but contorts his face as if he’s considering whether or not I’m telling the truth. I blow a smoke ring into the air and it floats happily along before being taken away by the breeze. We’ve barely put a dent in the handle of Grey Goose. 

 

“Why do you come here to drink?” I ask him. 

 

He shrugs and gives some evasive answer. I shake my head, what a pair we are. Another hour passes with minimal talk. I realize it’s noon and he’s not in school. “Don’t you need to be in school?” 

 

“I got suspended yesterday.” I almost want to laugh. It figures that this kid would be suspended from whatever prep school he was at. 

 

“How’d you do that?” I ask lazily. I’m not sure if I really care but conversation is sure to make the time go by faster. 

 

“I got into a fight.” I try to imagine the relatively scrawny, black haired kid getting into a fight. Laughter erupts from my lips when I try to picture it. 

 

“You’re absolutely joking, right?”  Now I am laughing. 

 

“Fuck off, you don’t know me.” I shake my head and try to control my laughter. 

 

“Touche.” I don’t really want to discuss it any further with the kid. He seems like trouble and I remind myself that he has made me genuinely laugh on the day my father died. 

  
  
  


It’s about six o’clock in the afternoon when I am so drunk I decide that it’s best to call…  _ my _ chief of security? I guess I’m his boss now. Simon Lewis answers on the third ring. 

 

“Hello Mr. Herondale, very sorry to hear of your loss what can I do for you?” 

 

“I need to be picked up at Bloomfield park.” The slur in my voice is unmistakable and I’m afraid that Simon, even though he’s just a few years older than me will refuse. 

 

“Of course, sir. Does your car need to picked up as well?” There is understanding in voice, almost as if he would be doing the same thing if he were me. 

 

“Yes. See you in about thirty minutes?” I ask, still sounding hopeful. 

 

“Yes, sir.” I hang up and move from where I’ve been all day, on the park bench to lie down in the green grass. Moving was not such a good idea. The farthest I can make it before I’m sick is behind the nearest tree and everything I’ve drank that day comes up with violent force. 

 

Alec eyes me warily. “I’m fine, thanks for asking.” Maybe I mistake abhorrence for pity in his eyes but I cannot be sure. “I’ve got to start walking back.” I manage to say. 

 

When Alec speaks it’s confirmation that it was pity. “Let me help you.” I quirk an eyebrow, why on God’s green earth would this petulant teenager want to help me? The thought is absurd. 

 

“I’ve got it kiddo.” Alec doesn’t seem to like that term though his face scrunches as if in pain that I’ve just reminded him of his age. Regardless he walks over to me and helps me on my feet. Simon will be furious, especially if I’m photographed being helped back to my car in a state of inebriation that even my fraternity brothers would deem unhealthy. I wonder what could possibly possess someone to want to help me? Especially this boy who in essence seems to be self-serving and self-loathing. What could he possibly see in me? 

 

We’re walking back to the car and by my approximation I cannot think it will take us less than thirty minutes at a minimum to get back there. I smell, even to my own nose, like expensive cigarettes, vomit and stale Grey Goose. How anyone can stand to be anywhere near me is a miracle. 

 

When we arrive I feel a little worse for the wear and I am sure I’m a nauseating shade of green. Simon has already stepped out of the car and seems to be reserving his judgement for when we are alone. My arm is over Alec’s shoulder and he’s stronger than he looks, he’s baring most of my weight and Simon has begun taking me off Alec’s hands. He takes me and shuffles me into the passenger seat but the two other men never speak a word to one another. I’m sure this is how Simon has chosen to show his disapproval of my choice in drinking partner. Alec can’t be all that sober either because he drank just as much as me but the effect seems to but muted on him. 

 

Simon closes the passenger side door and Alec Lightwood slinks off to throw stones. 

 

I didn’t know it then, but we would be seeing a lot more of each other in the coming weeks. 

 

The next morning I wake and think I must be standing on the surface of the sun the light is so bright. At the same time I must also be directly next to Simon because his booming voice fills my ears and the pain of it nearly brings tears to my eyes. 

 

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph did you get an award for that fucking shouting?” I grumble darkly, pulling the covers higher over my head. 

 

“Mr. Herondale, glad to see you heard me that time. You need to get up there’s the matter of your father’s will to deal with and also the matter of your guardianship over your sister.” Fucking hell! What time is it? I realize it must still be early from the way the sun seems to be pouring in the window like a tsunami into a coastal town. The clock says, 6:38am. He is so, so dead. 

 

I manage to sit up in bed far enough to look put off. “Why are you yelling at me and waking me up at the absolute crack of dawn the day after my father died and I was so drunk I couldn’t put myself to bed? Under what circumstances did that seem like a good idea?” 

 

Simon sits down at the end of the bed, a cup of coffee in his hand that smells like it’s the good stuff, “Your father would never want me to let you devolve into the mess you were several years ago because he passed. You know that’s not what he wanted. I have no idea what you were doing in that park last night but I brought you home and put you straight to bed.” A quick assessment of what I’m wearing tells me Simon had also undressed me and took off my watch. 

 

Simon was right. He was  _ always _ right. I take the coffee and sigh as the warm liquid brings me back to life. “Can you grab me some Aspirin and I’ll get ready?” Simon gives me a faint grin and leaves the room. 

 

I shower, wondering how the reading of my father’s will, will go over. My stepmother was a cruel woman and had often tried to influence my father’s decisions when it came to what he left for my siblings.

 

Forty-five minutes later has me in the foyer of the mansion with my step-mother and my tearful sister. Isabelle was old enough to understand that her father wasn’t coming home from the hospital. When I had tried to explain the concept of death to Izzy she was always more angry than sad, today seemed to be an exception. I pick her up, she’s getting too big for this but right now she needs me. “Shhh Izzy daddy’s in heaven now.” This seems to make her crying increase in volume. She’s got her head on my shoulder soaking my suit with tears. I pat her black hair and kiss her hair. My step-mother is in fine form, wearing something slim fitting and looking like she’s won the proverbial lottery. 

 

We arrive at the lawyer’s office and Izzy can’t quite comprehend what they’re doing here or what it has to do with her father. We’re sitting in his office, Izzy on my lap and the rest of us in chairs. I don’t understand why the vulture on my right deserves a penny of my father’s money but dad always said he loved her for a reason; that reason will always and forever be lost on me. 

 

“The Last Will and Testament of Stephen Herondale,” The family lawyer begins, after the legal preamble he begins to list the beneficiaries, “To my eldest son, Jonathan Christopher Herondale I leave sole ownership of Herondale Arms, the Herondale estate and all my personal belongings I further entrust Jace with the care of my only daughter should her mother relinquish her responsibility as caretaker. To Isabelle Lightwood Herondale, my only daughter I bequeath ten million dollars to be held in trust until her twenty-first birthday.” There was more, but I tuned it out. The family lawyer was the executor of the Will so there would be no family squabbling but apparently my father had seen sense and written my step-mother out of his will.  

 

For a moment I think of what Izzy’s middle name is… the kid who’d been keeping me company in the park for a few days now, the one with the riot of black hair, not only do him and Izzy look alike but I had never been told that she was adopted. Lightwood… that has to mean something doesn’t it? 

 


End file.
